Fortnight
by half agony and hope
Summary: "'You're here,' he says weakly, disbelieving, and she props herself up on one elbow. His eyes rove over her face, and she knows he is cataloguing her features in the soft sunlight so he can revisit this moment in his memory palace." A glimpse into the two weeks between Blue Bird and Nothing But Blue Skies. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I just couldn't get this little story out of my mind, so here we go. It starts right after Blue Bird when Jane and Lisbon are still in Miami, and it traces their first two weeks together as a couple. Part II will be posted soon, but until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

 _i_

* * *

She opens her eyes, and suddenly her senses are on overload.

The sliding door leading out to the seaside balcony is open, and a gull squawks loudly somewhere in the distance. As the waves break, Lisbon breathes in, smelling salt, and she takes in the small hotel room. It's now bathed in a light pink glow from the setting sun, and a slight breeze cools her skin.

She shivers involuntarily.

Her world has shifted so much in a few short hours; only that morning, she'd anxiously been looking through the glass at Jane as he sat in a holding cell, looking dejected but at peace, his twisted ankle propped up beside him.

Suddenly, a warm, muscular arm wraps around her torso, and the chill disappears. Lisbon smiles and rolls over onto her back.

The emotion on Jane's face floors her. It's so very different from the mask she's used to him wearing.

"You're here," he says weakly, and she props herself up on one elbow.

She leans down to kiss him, placing her other hand on his chest to steady herself. "Did you think I'd run away after what happened this morning?"

His eyes rove over her face, and she knows he is cataloguing her features in the pink sunlight so he can revisit this moment in his memory palace. "I just can't believe this is real."

"I know," she says, and she can't help but smile again. "I can't remember ever feeling so happy."

His eyes brighten. "Yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah."

She rests her head on his chest, and his arms shift around her. "I love you, Lisbon," he whispers.

She smiles. "Now that you've said it once, you're never going to stop, are you?" she asks.

His grin is all the answer she needs.

* * *

 _ii_

* * *

For the first time that she can remember, Lisbon isn't upset when her layover is extended.

A new plane is requested to replace one in need of maintenance, and Jane suggests they explore the airport while they wait. She's hardly aware of what city they're in—but she is _very_ aware of Jane's hand in hers as they walk through the terminal. Jane cold reads some of the harried-looking travelers who pass them, and she's sure he's exaggerating or making up most of the stories, but she cannot stop the laughter that bubbles up and spills out of her. He looks delighted at the sound.

When their flight finally takes off, she falls asleep on his shoulder.

* * *

 _iii_

* * *

A lucky mistake at the shipping company means half her things remain in Austin, and they spend their third day together moving her back into her home.

It's touching and therapeutic in a sense, she thinks, because it feels like Jane is helping her create a home here. It's the little things—he finds the coffee mugs and tea cups and places them in the cupboard above the sink, and she's sure now he knows her kitchen better than she does.

Her mattress, bed frame, and linens are halfway across the country, however. Lisbon considers this a blessing in disguise—though Jane likely would not have complained, _she_ would have worried about him being uncomfortable sleeping in bed that Marcus had so recently vacated. Instead, Lisbon takes Jane along on a quick run into town, picking up a mattress and box spring.

The bed frame won't be delivered until the next day, but they sleep on the mattress anyway, marking the mostly-empty house as theirs.

* * *

 _iv_

* * *

Jane finds the shell he sent her from South America as they continue to unpack.

He gives her a curious look. "You kept this?"

"Of course," she says, walking over to him and taking the shell from his hand. She examines it closely, remembering how its mere presence on her desk had gotten her through some of the more dreary days in Washington. "I didn't think I'd get to see you again," she adds. "I kept everything you sent me."

He tries to respond several times but can't quite get the words out.

"Maybe you can take me there sometime," Lisbon continues. "I'd love to see your island paradise."

He pulls her close and finds his voice again, whispering in her ear, "My paradise is wherever you are."

* * *

 _v_

* * *

"When did you know?"

He's standing at the stove, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he cooks them breakfast. "Hmm?" he asks absentmindedly, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Lisbon leans against the counter. "When did you know you loved me?"

Jane moves the eggs off the burner and turns toward her.

"Before you knew you loved me," he admits softly, and she gapes at him.

"Yeah, right," she says, rolling her eyes. She can't remember a time she wasn't in love with him.

He steps toward her. "You knew after Vegas, right?" he asks. "You couldn't understand why you were so hurt at everything I'd done—after all, we hadn't made any promises to each other. That's how you figured out how you felt."

He reaches out for her to soften the sting of these words—she doesn't think she'll ever be able to talk about his sixth months in Vegas without feeling like a part of her soul has died. She takes his hand and nods. He's right, of course.

He nearly always is.

"So when did you know?" she asks.

"When I saw you with a bomb strapped to your chest."

She feels his pulse quicken underneath her fingertips as he explains.

"I moved toward you," he says. "Not away. It didn't ever occur to me to leave you—if you were going to die, so was I."

"Jane," she says in a scolding tone. "Promise me you won't think that way anymore. Please."

He shakes his head. "I told myself I'd stop lying to you, Lisbon—and I can't make that promise without lying."

" _Jane_ ," she pleads.

He sighs. "I'll try, Lisbon. I promise to try."

She wraps her arms around him. "Thank you," she breathes.

* * *

 _vi_

* * *

She has a moment of panic after returning from the grocery store one afternoon.

"Are we dating?" she asks him, holding a package of frozen vegetables in one hand, as he wanders into the kitchen to help her unpack.

She simultaneously needs to know his answer and is terrified of what it will be.

He freezes, looking suddenly unsure. "I thought that went without saying."

The chill from the vegetables seeps into her bones. "I need to hear you say it."

He grabs the package from her hand and tosses it in the freezer. He turns to her. "I would very much like to date you, Teresa Lisbon," he says. "Would it be alright if I think of myself as your boyfriend?"

She grins at him. He always knows exactly what to say—asking to be her boyfriend is somehow less threatening to Lisbon than if he'd asked her to be his girlfriend.

She kisses him in response.

* * *

 _vii_

* * *

The first time they make love, he is so tentative, so gentle, that she falls for him all over again. Their fingers interlace above her head, and he watches her intently, taking note of every facial expression, every gasp, every moan.

Limbs entangle, bodies align, and two very broken people begin to become whole again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I was blown away by the response to part I - thank you all! Hope part II lives up to expectations!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

 _viii_

* * *

"How's the ankle?" she asks, moving to where he's sprawled out on the couch. She lifts his feet, sits down, and then sets his legs over hers.

Night has fallen, and the stars twinkle at them through the living room window.

Jane smiles at her. "To be honest," he says, "I haven't noticed any pain at all since you walked into the TSA holding room."

Lisbon doubts this, but she blushes at the intended compliment. She looks down at his legs, and her hands automatically are drawn to his injured ankle. She touches it gingerly, pulling down the sock to get a better look.

His skin is not purple or black, which is a good sign—but it's still an angry shade of yellowish-green, and she winces, knowing it must be causing him at least some pain. "I cannot believe you jumped that fence," she says. She gives him a stern look. "What if you'd broken your ankle? Or your leg?"

"Still would have been worth it," Jane responds automatically, and Lisbon lays her hand on his bare skin, floored.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "Smooth talker," she says, but she can't keep the smile from spreading across her face. "But from now on, why don't you leave that kind of stuff to me, alright?"

Jane grins. "With pleasure," he says.

* * *

 _ix_

* * *

She wakes up at half-past three to the sound of him thrashing against the covers. His breathing is rough and erratic, and she's scared to touch him, unsure of how he will react to her in his sleep.

But when he lets out a terrified moan, so chilling that she feels tremors move up her spine, she leans toward him and touches his face gently.

"Jane?" she says loudly, concerned. "Jane—come on, Jane, wake up." He shakes his head, and his mouth seems to form the word _no_ over and over again, but his eyes remain stubbornly closed.

Lisbon brushes his hair away from his forehead. "Patrick?" she says, her voice soft, and his eyes immediately flash open.

He takes several deep breaths, looking anywhere but at her.

"I haven't had that nightmare in years," he finally chokes out, still out of breath. Lisbon stays silent, beginning to run her hand through his hair slowly. He leans into her touch. "I know he's dead, Lisbon, but sometimes…sometimes it feels like I'll never get rid of him."

"Why do you think the nightmare came back?" she murmurs, and she listens as his breathing begins to return to normal.

He finally meets her eyes. "Around the time I realized…what I felt for you," he says, "my nightmares changed. Instead of me walking into a room and finding Angela's and Charlotte's bodies, I'd find yours."

Lisbon thinks it is the first time he's said his wife's name out loud in front of her. She tenses. His skin is feverish to her touch, and she peels away the sheet which sticks to the sweat on his chest.

"Anyway, the dreams stopped after…after I arrived in South America."

Neither of them dare answer Lisbon's earlier question, but the words hang between them nonetheless.

 _The nightmare came back because he now has her to lose._

"He's gone, Jane. He can't hurt anyone ever again."

Jane is shaking slightly as he answers. "I know. But sometimes it's easy to forget that in the dark."

Lisbon leans back against her pillow, pulling him toward her.

He finally falls asleep again, this time with his head on her chest.

* * *

 _x_

* * *

She becomes oddly emotional at the site of their clothes in the same laundry basket.

Shaking herself, she carries the load of clean clothes back to her room and puts them away, wondering when exactly Jane took over part of her closet.

Then she heads downstairs to the kitchen, where Jane is washing the dishes from dinner. She wraps her arms around his waist from behind and leans against his back, resting her forehead on his shoulder blade.

She doesn't see the radiant grin that spreads across his face.

* * *

 _xi_

* * *

Lisbon tries to get out of bed one morning only to find Jane's fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back to him.

"Good morning to you, too," she says, kissing him softly, and he smiles sleepily at her.

They lay there for about half an hour, watching as the sun creeps up into the sky, until Lisbon speaks.

"Tell me about your childhood."

He looks at her, one eyebrow raised. "What do you want to know?"

She hums against him, shrugging. She thinks for a while before asking, "What was your favorite hobby?"

"Reading," he says immediately. Then he elaborates. "When I was young, I wished I could be like the kids who came to the carnival from the city. I wanted to go to school—I wanted to _learn_. My dad wasn't willing to teach me, so I had to teach myself. I scavenged books everywhere I could get them, and I read whenever I had free time."

She smiles. "Would your carnie friends happen to have pictures of this young Patrick Jane? I bet you were an absolutely adorable child."

He rolls his eyes. "Only for you would I dig up those pictures, Lisbon."

She grins, then becomes serious, debating how to phrase her next question.

"Out with it, Lisbon," he says, grabbing her hand and playing with her fingers.

"Do you know what happened to your parents?"

His eyes cloud over. "No," he says tersely. He sighs and begins speaking again, making an effort to soften his tone. "My mother…my mother had an affair with another member of the carnival," he says softly. "I found out later she was seeing this guy for over a year before the secret got out. I'm not sure how she kept the whole thing quiet, but somehow she managed. My father eventually discovered them and told the whole carnival, and…well, they both left. They weren't welcome to travel with us anymore." Jane glances over at Lisbon.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He shrugs. "It's done," he says, attempting nonchalance. "At the time, I must have been only seven years old, but I distinctly remember promising myself that I'd never let anyone get away with lying to me again."

"That's why you trained yourself how to read people?"

He nods tightly, and Lisbon's eyes mist over. She'd never once thought that Jane had developed his incredible observation skills as a coping mechanism.

He reaches over to wipe at the tear that threatens to fall from her eye.

* * *

 _xii_

* * *

He discovers that she's ticklish.

* * *

 _xiii_

* * *

They go on their first real date, and by silent agreement they avoid cloth napkins and extra salad forks.

Instead, they choose an old Italian family restaurant. Jane orders cannoli after the main course, and they share a look, remembering the last time he'd offered her Italian dessert.

 _This_ time, she tastes cannoli on his lips when he kisses her in the parking lot.

* * *

 _xiv_

* * *

She admits to herself that she loves him.

That she's _in love_ with him.

She's not ready to say it out loud, of course, but she has no problems with the thought echoing around in her head. She smiles, and he catches her.

"What were you thinking about just now?" he asks, curious.

She glances at him. "You," she says simply.

After all, it's always been him.

It always will be.


End file.
